


Cash or Credit Card

by Somnis



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Doctor/Patient, Future Fic, M/M, Oikage Big Bang 2018, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-06 16:00:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17348222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somnis/pseuds/Somnis
Summary: Oikawa thought he had found success in a lot of things in his life: before his thirtieth birthday, he was still playing volleyball, had a lot of friends and was as charming as ever. And to top it all, he just opened his doctor’s office in the heart of the capital.Well, he was eager to begin his career, until a kind of special patient –a guy that he would have liked to forget and whose name was Kageyama Tobio- appeared in his waiting room.





	Cash or Credit Card

 

Did Oikawa Tooru know what failure was during his first twenty-eight years? It was the question that everyone was asking while seeing him progress with ease in society, standing out both by his charm and his skills. In the view of most he probably appeared as a model of success; and that perfectly justified the initial question.  

His best friend since childhood, Iwaizumi Hajime, would surely have answered this question first, mentioning in a confused mixture that time he got rejected by Karasuno’s manager, all the missed opportunities to go to Nationals, the countless times that he got dumped, and that utterly failed test in math during their first year of high school.

Oikawa himself would have taken his time to think and exclude trivia, and would have answered with a light and fake smile that he had only one idea at the moment: that he never had the chance to become a professional volleyball player.

He was aware of this fatality early enough in his life –the firsts sprains of carelessness, the first serious knee injury in high school , then social pressure of his parents and teachers who found as risky as reckless to engage in a sports pathway with such promising academic performance.

He had initially thought to combine the two and move towards sports medicine; then and after some hesitations, he ended up thinking that it could be hard for him. And convinced of quickly making himself a practice thanks to his professionalism as well as his pleasant manners and his beautiful face, he chose to become a general practitioner.

He never really stopped playing volleyball, even during his studies, and his level still was honorable maintained by regular practices in a local club. When he celebrated the opening of his own doctor’s surgery with his family and friends, the only thing that his parents could have regretted was not to have a daughter or son-in-law.

But it was the last thing in Oikawa’s mind, pretty happy with this investment – his doctor’s surgery was ideally set, in the heart of Tokyo; and he was determined to retain a practice as soon as possible. He knew he was attractive, and he liked to be; for now, he wasn’t in search of something serious.

The first months passed quietly. He became more and more confident in his diagnosis, began to welcome some recurring patients whom he even became the family doctor of. He was particularly proud of that, and while weeks passed where health and money were growing together, he thought it was definitely a good life.

Well, until the day Kageyama Tobio appeared in his waiting room.

 

 

*

 

The list was here before his eyes and couldn’t lie. Thirteen letters, two words, a name that he hadn’t seen in years and that he clearly didn’t want to see again. In this case Kageyama Tobio, aka the volleyball genius, his underclassman in middle school, his rival in high school, and since then, an international star of the court.

It was a shock. He wasn’t ready to see Tobio here and now, and thought of calling Iwaizumi to complain for a long time but he couldn’t, he was at work and had a schedule to keep, being late for the first appointment would affect his reputation. He deeply inhaled to give himself courage, and without knowing what to expect, called Kageyama by a voice as neutral as possible. To pronounce his family name instead of his first name followed by a suffix both affectionate and contemptuous seemed strangely new to him.

The first thing he felt when Kageyama stepped in front of him was satisfaction: he still was the taller of the two, more or less, pretty less, but still! Their old rivalry spirit was getting to him again. He didn’t have the time to analyze this new Tobio that the voice he hasn’t heard for years cut his thoughts: “What, it’s _you_?”

Oikawa gave him an annoyed look. Tobio was still the same –same dark and straight hair, same piercing blue eyes, but he was a man now, his jaw more square, his musculature more developed. Not fundamentally unpleasant to look at.

“You know a lot of Oikawa Toorus, Tobio-chan?”

Kageyama grumbled something about not making the appointment himself and that he didn’t know, he only followed the address –all in an inaudible mumbling that Oikawa totally ignored while he made him enter in his office.

“What do you want?”

He joined his hands on his desk in a highly professional attitude and raised a brow towards his former underclassman. Tobio seemed a bit troubled to see him in this framework, so different from what they were used to –no net, no ball, no supporters shouting- and displayed a pout before saying half-heartedly: “I think I’m sick.”

Oikawa sighed. Generally, people going to the doctor _were_ sick.

“And why do you think that?” he asked while taking out a notebook.

“Sakusa.”

“Uh?”

The Kageyama gibberish was beginning.

“Sakusa is the ace of our team,” Tobio explained. “It’s him who told me that.”

“You know you’re sick because someone else told you?”

“He’s a pro,” Kageyama seriously answered.

Second sigh within fifteen seconds.

“Great. Then he’ll probably be able to check you better than me. It’ll be 5000 yen. Thanks. Goodbye Tobio-chan.”

“No, wait!” Tobio protested. “He just told me. But he’s a bit, how to say… hypochondriac? He doesn’t want to get too close to me…”

“And why would _I_ get close to you?”

“It’s your job!”

They shared a defiant stare. Third sigh.

“Well. What makes Sakusa say that you’re sick? You seem perfectly healthy.”

“Because I’m coughing.”

“Okay. And?”

“I’m sneezing too.”

“What more?”

“And my throat hurts a little.”

 _Little by little_ , Oikawa thought. With Tobio, he had to address one thing at a time, only stimulate one area of his brain by question –otherwise he feared short-circuiting him. He carefully noted this few and unclear information, and showed the examination table to Tobio with his hand.

“Keep your shirt,” he specified.

Tobio took off his sweater and negligently threw it on the chair before going towards the table –no care, as expected, but he probably wasn’t the one who washed and ironed his clothes. He was less lanky than back then, but still kept something of a teenager in his way of standing, of looking at everything with a kind of naïve neutrality. That was at least what Oikawa was thinking when he joined him, feeling Tobio stare at him with curiosity.

Touching his skin was something particularly disturbing, as if in Oikawa’s mind Tobio only had existed as an abstract image of a genius rival, as the thought of the player and his nature more than a human being. The only physical contact he had with him was in the range of shaking hands after a game. He never considered touching his face, and it was like a crossing in his perception of Kageyama –but he didn’t think further.

He put his hands on his cheeks to stretch the skin a bit and open his eyes wide. He took in the eyeball, the blood vessels, and the dilation of the pupil. The pout on Oikawa’s lips was less caused by his first diagnosis than by the rare color of Kageyama’s iris –after all, Tobio was already gifted with unnatural skills, why did nature make him with such eyes?

Oikawa made him lift his head with a delicacy which was a bit suspicious for a practitioner, and sweeping away his envious thoughts, ordered him to open his mouth. When Tobio obeyed, Tooru discovered a source of satisfaction to see him follow his orders like a well trained dog –well, like he always did.

He would probably have changed his orientation, Oikawa absentmindedly thought,  if he had know that at some point this job would require him to examine Kageyama Tobio’s mouth. He reached out towards Tobio grabbing his arm and took his blood pressure with dexterity. Throughout the process took –tighten the monitor, inject pressure, waiting for it to deflate, analyze the definitive number- he felt Tobio’s intense stare weighing on him. No doubt about it, he wanted to say something; Oikawa knew him too well, and he hadn’t changed that much not to interpret this behavior.

His suspicions were confirmed when he put the device away and Kageyama abruptly asked: “Do you still play volleyball?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa evasively answered, then, to provoke him a bit: “what about you?”

Tobio stared at him for a moment, and Tooru got the paradoxical impression that he was the one who was taken for an idiot.

“Of course yeah,” Kageyama answered on the evidence tone. “In the National team. Of Japan.”

National necessarily implied Japan, but Oikawa settled for a consternated smile.

“That’s enough, go and sit,” he sighed. “It’s just a cold.”

He returned to his desk and took a prescription paper while Tobio was putting his sweater back on.

“Just rest a little and it’ll pass. If you can find a drugstore and ask for medicine, you can take these to ease a bit your sore throat.”

“Rest?” Tobio repeated, narrowing his eyes.

Oikawa answered in the most professional possible voice: “Oh, I would say around three weeks without sport.”

“THREE WEEKS?” Kageyama exclaimed in a high-pitched voice.

Oikawa only kept his impassibility mask for a few seconds before bursting in laughter in front of Tobio’s horrified face; he stuck his tongue out: “I’m just joking. Anyway you’re going to be back on the court long before the date I’ll give you, so I won’t say anything.”

He realized that his words had their part of attention, almost of tenderness in his way to know Tobio, of guessing his reactions –and to tolerate them with benevolence, knowing it was exactly how he would act himself. He cleared his throat and added, suddenly more serious: “Well, if you want to worsen your case it’s your problem.”

New smile, which only met in return a frustrated pout. “Cash or credit card?”

The moment of paying was always a source of euphoria –but he generally hid that under a layer of exemplar professionalism. He didn’t bother to do this with Tobio, too happy to take his money (unfairly gained thanks to his natural gifts) to make it his wage.

After Tobio paid by card –at least he remembered his code- Oikawa walked him to the door and wished him a good recovery. Kageyama seemed surprise, but in reality it was more to make a good impression in front of the other patients in the waiting room.

He waited a minute before calling the next patient. He needed it, at least, to recover from an accidental meeting with someone who had so much influence on him at the time, this endless source of fears, of complexes, of challenges and pride, both so far and so close to him, so similar and at the same time different by essence. The paths they took illustrated, in a way, this divergence between them; but Oikawa couldn’t find in him this seething jealousy he should have felt because of Tobio being in the National team.

The experience left him a bit disrupted. He promised himself to call Iwaizumi later to tell him –after all, it was so weird, Tobio was still the same. He wondered if Kageyama really came here by chance, if his usual doctor was in vacation or something, or if he would come back in a few months. That last idea provoked both repulsion and haste in him.

He decided to put off all these mixed feelings and called the following patient.

 

*

 

The “few months” were in fact more a few weeks. Six, to be precise, before Kageyama Tobio booked another appointment. Oikawa was printing out his weekly lists of appointments, proud to see that his slots were full, when the name caught his attention. He passed the beginning of the week expectantly, thinking of seeing Tobio again and how he could make fun of him.

The day finally came. Kageyama, once again, didn’t seem to present obvious physical symptoms when he appeared; he said hello to Oikawa with his eyes on the ground and they once again found themselves around the desk.

“Well, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa began while taking a paper from his notebook, “what brings you here?”

Kageyama lifted his gaze on him with his usual aggressive indifference, then put a finger on his side and said: “It hurts when I press here.”

“Then don’t,” Oikawa answered all smiles. “Cash or credit card?”

Tobio’s close expression cracked in a moment of shock that Oikawa found hilarious.

“You’re making fun of me,” Kageyama mumbled.

“Good call. Take off your shirt and sit on the table.”

Tobio gratified him with a last glare before obeying. Oikawa looked away with decency when he took his shirt off, even if he knew he was going to auscultate him in a few seconds and anyway he had already seen Kageyama in Kitagawa Daiichi’s changing rooms. But, and this though was confirmed by a first glance, the adult version of Tobio had physically nothing to do with the body of a twelve years old kid.

He kept his serious face when he sat beside him. Of course he could easily see the smooth and flawless skin, the visible yet finely carved muscles, drawn almost with delicacy on his arms, his shoulders, his torso and belly.

“Where then?”                   

“Here”

Tobio showed a precise place and jolted when Oikawa put his hand on it.

“It must be a displaced rib”

“No big deal?” Kageyama immediately asked, and the implied “Can I still play?” was extremely obvious.

“No big deal. But you should take an appointment with a physical therapist as soon as possible for him to put it back in place. No sports until then.”

“Oikawa-san,” Tobio quickly protested. “I have an important game in three days. My tosses are less precise since I got that thing. I have to play.”

Oikawa raised a brow: “Okay, and?”

“Can’t _you_ put it in place?”

It was the same expression on Tobio’s face as years before, when he asked to learn how to serve. The same full of hope and quietly asking eyes, the same expecting expression. Oikawa almost had the reflex to stick his tongue out and push him away; instead he frowned and cleared his throat: “I learned how to do it, but it’s only theoretical. I’m not supposed to...”

“Please,” Tobio insisted.

A demonic smile stretched Oikawa’s lips. “It would be zeal from me. What do you give me in exchange?”

Tobio stayed a moment like a fish outside water mouth open, then he tried something:

“VIP seats for my game.”

“As if I’d like to see you play,” Oikawa hissed.

Kageyama showed a vexed pout.

“Come on, lay on your back.”

What an endless generosity, Oikawa thought. He hoped not to displace more ribs in the process, but if he had to try it, it was better on Tobio. He couldn’t deny it was disturbing to have such a close contact with his former rival, especially when he put his hand on Tobio’s chest to give enough pressure. It’s like any other patient, he tried to convince himself.

“Inhale,” he demanded. “Exhale. Deeper.”

At the key moment, he slid his hands without ceasing to press, and felt all coming back in place under his fingers on the other side of the skin. A satisfied smile appeared on his lips, and Tobio seemed to share his euphoria while sitting back.

“Thanks, Oikawa-san.”

He bowed his head and slightly massaged his now aligned ribs; then he jumped from the table to put on his shirt.

“Don’t play before tomorrow,” Oikawa said while sitting at his desk. “And don’t strain yourself.”

He hesitated, then half-heartedly asked: “Against whom?”

“What?”

Oh no. It was stinging enough for his pride, but in addition the idiot was making him repeat.

“The game”

“Ah. Serbia,” simply answered Tobio.

He still seemed happy to see Oikawa getting involved, but didn’t try to give him seats anymore. Maybe another time, Tooru thought; for now, he had too much work to afford it.

“No exercise tonight,” he repeated while walking him to the door.

He softened a little under Kageyama’s offended expression, and added as a goodbye:

“Good luck on your game.”

He didn’t have the time to see surprise on Tobio’s face before closing the door, he himself getting embarrassed from his kindness. But after all, he only did what any doctor was supposed to do, knowing being thoughtful to retain his practice. And Tobio was famous, maybe it would bring more patients.

Oikawa then realized that a high level player wasn’t supposed to be fixed up by GPs. Wasn’t Tobio followed by a team of sports doctors, coach, managers, physical therapists in any kind, as a world-level athlete ?

Yes, of course yes. So why was he here?  

Oikawa didn’t have the time to think further about it, caught by his practice; but the idea was recurrent before seeing Tobio again.

 

*

 

It was a bit more than a month since the last appointment when Tobio appeared once again in his office. Oikawa just had opened the door to call him that Kageyama literally jumped out of the waiting room and ran to him: “Oikawa-san, hello.”

“Hello, Tobio-chan,” Oikawa welcomed him.

He noticed that his professionalism was progressively getting wild with Tobio, but it shocked none of them. He watched his former underclassman enter the room, sit and begin to nervously play with his fingers. He seemed paler than usual and pretty anxious; it was rare to see Kageyama in this state, and Oikawa felt his curiosity grow.

“Why are you here?”

Kageyama leaned forward, his blue eyes wide in anguish: “I think I’m going to die.”

“Excuse me?” Oikawa smiled. “Die?”

Tobio visibly didn’t like his smile, since he pursued in a lightly more high-pitched voice, always leaning more forward: “Oikawa-san, I had to take the first appointment. It’s serious. I don’t want to die; I have a game next week.”

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa sighed. “Please calm down; you’re not going to die.”

He could read distress into Kageyama’s eyes: “I looked on WebMD! And they said I could die!”

Oikawa coughed in his fist to cover his laugh: “Oh, really. Hum… And what symptoms do you present?”

Tobio was clearly panicking as he began to mention, quickly counting on his fingers: “I got fever, I’m tired, I have red patches on my arm, and my head aches.”

Oikawa raised a mocking eyebrow: “Yeah… And what do you think you caught as fatal disease?”

“AIDS!” Tobio exclaimed.

Oikawa was seized again by the need to laugh, but fought it, trying to keep the small amount of credibility he had.

“Tobio-chan,” he said in a calming tone, “AIDS is a STD.”

“And?”

“And it means you need to have sexual intercourse to catch it in most of cases.”

“ _And_?”

Entertainment progressively disappeared from Oikawa’s face.

“What, you did?”

“Of course yes!” Kageyama exclaimed.

What was obvious for him wasn’t at all for Oikawa. The thought that Tobio, his little Tobio, the innocent and socially inept underclassman, the genius who still had this almost childish naiveté, could have had sexual intercourse was highly disrupting. He wanted to ask who it was, caught by the thought that maybe Tobio was in couple; but it seemed so preposterous he didn’t.

“Real sexual intercourse, uh?” he still tried, unable to believe it. “It’s when two people…”

“Oikawa-san,” Kageyama cut him. “I’m twenty-six. I _know_ what it is.”

His former upperclassman presented a stupid smile, hesitating between burying this info forever and asking for details –but he recovered his composure despite his apparent shock.

“And that relation was… safeguarded?”

“Depends,” Tobio distractedly answered. “He was.”

Oikawa wanted to sink from his chair and lay in fetal position.

“Okay,” he said. “And, how to say it… You were… the bottom?”

Tobio had an absolutely neutral face, seeming more affected by the idea of being infected than by babbling about his intimacy: “The bottom, you mean under? Because at some point I was sitting atop and-“

“Stop,” Oikawa whined. “Spare me the details, please.”

“But it’s you who-“

“Tobio-chan, stop!”

“But-“

“Tch!”

Oikawa raised a finger as a threat, and Tobio glared at him. Tooru took a minute to calm down and overcome the fact that Tobio was sexually active to pursue, slowly, carefully separating his words:

“If your boyfriend is the one who was the dominant and he was protected, there’s no risk unless the condom cracked.”

“I didn’t look,” Tobio replied. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“I’ll prescribe you a blood test if it can reassure you,” Oikawa decided. “But before, I’ll see the other symptoms.”

He showed the table. He was feeling empty, as if something essential was missing. He still had a hard time realizing that Tobio was an adult with other needs than playing volleyball. Could he be sensual? Oikawa stopped the lewd images before they could find their way to his brain.

As soon as he came close to the table, Tobio impatiently showed him red patches of little spots that were covering his wrist and the back of his hand: “It’s one of the symptoms!”

“It may as well be an allergy,” Oikawa replied seizing his wrist to inspect the thing in details. “Did you eat something new?”

“No.”

“Did you pet an animal?”

“No. They don’t let me approach anyway.”

“Did you put something unusual here on your skin?”

Tobio seemed to reflect a little, and then his face lightened up: “Yes! I went shopping with Yachi and she wanted make up. She tried the different colors of lipstick on my wrist.”

“Bingo,” Oikawa smiled. “You’re having an allergy to that make-up, Tobio-chan. About the other symptoms, it’s probably only overwork, but I’ll check it.”

Thousands of questions were going through in his head during the usual protocol. He was discovering Tobio under a new light, and a part of him was consumed by curiosity.

“Yachi, she’s the little blonde from Karasuno?” he suddenly remembered.

“Yeah.”

“And you went shopping with her?”

Kageyama shrugged his shoulders: “Yeah.”

“She’s your girlfriend?”

He realized the stupidity of his question the same moment he asked it, and Tobio noticed it as well, since he gave him an empty look: “Oikawa-san. I don’t like girls.”

“Yeah, yeah of course,” Oikawa hurried to answer. “Me neither.”

He never knew why he let that slip out at that moment –probably stress. An embarrassed silence settled between them all the time the auscultation took, and going back to the desk was relieving; Oikawa finally could lower his eyes to write the prescription for a blood test and held the little paper to Tobio: “Do it as soon as you can, and bring me the results so I can analyze them. But stop panicking. You’re not going to die.”

He threw a quick glance to his lists: “Do you think it’ll be good for Thursday?”

“Yeah,” Tobio agreed. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

“Perfect then. Normally the problem is already found, but at least you’ll be sure.”

Kageyama nodded, paid and stood up. Oikawa walked him to the door: “See you on Thursday, Tobio-chan.” Then, with a wink to ease the atmosphere: “Don’t do anything naughty until then!”

For the first time of the appointment, he saw a slight redness covering Kageyama’s cheeks. “See you,” he mumbled just before sneaking out.

The door just closed on him that the next patient stood; but Oikawa made a little sign to him: “A moment please.”

He closed his door and went back to sit on his desk to reflect on the meaning of life, which was strangely centered on Kageyama Tobio’s sexuality.

 

*

 

Tobio came back on Thursday as planned with the analyze results. He seemed a bit quieter, probably reassured on his life expectancy.

“Show me that,” Oikawa asked, reaching towards him to take the papers.

The rates were absolutely normal, and Tooru almost found it disappointing, as if he expected to discover in the blood analyzes an explanation of the why and how Tobio was a volleyball genius. Instead, he had to come to the conclusion that he was a perfectly normal human being. Physically at least.

“Everything is fine,” he said giving back the papers. “No problem.”

“Then I don’t have AIDS?”

“Of course not, you idiot. Just be careful next time you…”

He let his sentence unfinished, unable to end it with delicacy. Kageyama, who by the way didn’t seem to know the idea of delicacy at all, hurriedly stated: “No, no. It was just a one-night stand.”

“That’s what I say, be careful.”

Tobio nodded his head, then, awkwardly: “Oikawa-san, can you become my referring doctor?”

Oikawa raised his brows. It meant that every time Tobio would have a health problem or need a prescription, he’d see him again. It meant see him regularly, see him evolve during his life if he stayed close every few months. It was something that Oikawa would have found insufferable some years ago, but he felt no negative feelings where he expected to find envy or annoyance.

“I must create your case,” he simply stated.

He did some manipulations on the computer as Tobio wasn’t answering and was just fixing him with that intense way he always had; then he began: “Kageyama Tobio, 26 years old, professional volleyball player. That’s all good?”

“It is.”

“Living in?”

“Tokyo.”

“What’s your family status?”

“Uh, I’m an only child.”

Oikawa rolled his eyes, finding there a good substitute to sighs: “No, Tobio-chan. It means single, in a relationship or married.”

Oikawa had intently added the “relationship” out of curiosity, hoping to learn a bit more about Tobio’s sentimental life. The latter didn’t see the trap at all and frankly stated: “Single.”

“Did you have another referring doctor before?”

 Kageyama pouted in his usual way: “There are the team’s doctors, but I don’t like them.”

It was bringing answers to Oikawa about Tobio’s presence in his office. He asked, pretending casualness: “Oh, why that?”

“Because Sakusa told me they weren’t competent.”

It was so like Tobio, making his opinions from others and without challenging them a bit. Outside volleyball, he’d probably rather stick to already established ideas to spare himself the effort of thinking, and if in addition he held an high esteem of Sakusa, no doubt he never tried to think otherwise.

“They’re sports professionals,” Oikawa made him notice.

“I don’t care,” stubbornly replied Kageyama.

“Better for me,” Tooru mocked. “They’re too well paid as it is, in contrary to me. Anyway Tobio-chan, your case is finished, and you’ll just have to sign it next time you come here. You’re my regular patient now! Be careful I don’t prescribe you false medication!”

He stuck his tongue out, but Tobio didn’t seem to listen. Instead, he sunk a bit further in his chair, threw a glance to the doctor from under his dark strands, and asked in less confident voice than usual: “Oikawa-san, can I have your number?”

“Of course,” Oikawa answered with a big smile.

He took a little piece of laminated paper and held it to Tobio, who deciphered the business card as professional as it could. He returned to Oikawa a frustrated face.

“That’s not…” he awkwardly began.

“I’m joking, Tobio-chan!” Oikawa exclaimed, finding it all very funny. “Here…”

He quickly wrote a series of numbers on a piece of paper and slipped it to Tobio: “Don’t harass me, okay? I won’t teach you my serve.”

“But…” Tobio meekly protested. “Okay. Uh… Thanks.”

“Cash or credit card?” followed up Oikawa to cut it short.

“Card.”

Once the appointment was paid, Kageyama stood up without daring to meet Oikawa’s eyes, and the latter suspected it was to hide his embarrassment. Anyway, he had to walk him to make a good impression; he opened the door for him and carelessly lay against the frame ( _not_ as a doctor should do in front of his patient), slightly leaning towards Tobio.

“See you soon, then, Tobio-chan.”

“See you soon, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama whispered, seeming troubled.

After that, he would have liked to say he didn’t calculated he sensuality in his gaze, the depth and slowness of his voice, the fact of casually running his hand through his hair. But the fact was he really did, and the expression on Kageyama’s face wasn’t to unpleased him.

“In short, you’re flirting with him,” Iwaizumi summed up during the phone call they made the same day when Tooru told him about this.

“Wrong!” Oikawa dramatically exclaimed. “It’s _him_ who’s flirting with _me_!”

 

*

 

Oikawa did not regret giving his number to Kageyama. They didn’t talk much, and most of the time their conversation would stop after a few messages, one or the other caught by professional duty; but at least once a week, they would see how things were going. Oikawa had first tried to put his doctor status ahead to make it seem like he was interest in health before all, but their topics quickly changed, and almost always drifted them towards volleyball and Kageyama’s career.

It’s been around three months that Oikawa hadn’t seen him elsewhere than TV, and he was forced to say he followed the official games with more diligence than before, even with his usually complicated schedule. He often found himself in front of his screen, at night, letting on his usually impassible face a panel of expressions while the game advanced; and more than once, he surprised himself slightly smiling when Kageyama scored the point by an ace, a block or even better, a dump shot. Tooru began to admit it was great to see, even if he knew what it was like to experience it and could only empathize with the opponents.

Three months, then, and as the winter break was going to happen for the athletes, he wondered if he could see Tobio somewhere else than in his office. The idea of a date was too blurry in his head for now, he didn’t want to think about it; but he began to wait impatiently the moment Tobio would be sick.

He was at his desk, early in the morning –he always took care of being here soon enough to plan the day. The first patient would only come in one hour, and Oikawa was taking this time to water the little house plants that decorated his office when his professional phone began to ring. He immediately answered, and a voice both unknown and familiar asked: “Are you Oikawa Tooru?”

To whom did this voice belong? Oikawa was sure he knew it, but couldn’t replace it. “That’s it,” he cautiously answered.

“Do you make house calls?”

That question was asked a few times before, but the reply didn’t change: “No, sorry.”

“It’s urgent,” the voice insisted.

Oikawa was ready to say that in this case, they should go to the emergency room, but a sound was made from the other side of the line and someone else picked up the phone. A second voice rose, and Oikawa immediately identified this one with a mixture of surprise and disgust.

“Oikawa, it’s been a while.”

“Ushiwaka-chan, that’s my professional line. If _you_ are the urgency, know that I won’t move from here, instead I go as far as possible-“

“It’s not me. Kageyama told us you were his referring doctor, so we called you.”

“Oh, that’s Tobio-chan?”

Oikawa’s inflections were all of sudden weighing with worry, and he blamed himself to give this impression; but Ushijima’s tact was equal to a brick’s, and he surely wouldn’t hear it.

“Yes,” he continued in his monotonous and outrageously serious voice. “Sakusa and I came at his place to go jogging together. He doesn’t look well, so we decided to call you.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

There was an incomprehensible mumbling, and the phone once again changed hands. Sakusa –Oikawa recognized him now, he never met him but already heard him in interviews- spoke again: “Must be the flu.”

Oikawa sighed. It wasn’t surprising, at this time of the year, and if Tobio had a bit overworked to end the first part of the season, he should have been more vulnerable to it.

“I don’t usually make house calls,” he grumbled while playing with a pen. “Is it really serious?”

“Enough,” Sakusa distractedly replied. “If you’re not coming, it’s nothing. Komori is at my place to bring medicines here.”

“With all due respect, you’re not a drugstore,” Oikawa said. “It’s me who’s supposed to prescribe what he needs.”

If Tooru had learned something during all the years he dedicated to volleyball, it was that the most passionate of them had nothing in their head when things came to everyday life. Tobio and Ushijima were good examples. And he could guess from this that he shouldn’t trust the members of the National team he had on phone, who were probably ready to stuff Kageyama with random pills. He sighed again, defeated.

“I’m on my way.”

 

*

 

To find Kageyama’s place wasn’t the most complicated, and Oikawa ran out of his car with his bag in hand and his stethoscope around his neck. He faintly adjusted his clothes in the elevator to seem professional and be ready to face some of the most obstinate players of the national volleyball team, all of that in Kageyama Tobio’s natural environment.

Sakusa opened the door before he knocked and shook his hand (but Oikawa did see that he cleaned it after with hydroalcoholic gel) while briefly explaining the situation: “Wakatoshi and I arrived around thirty minutes ago. Kageyama didn’t manage to leave his bed, and it seems like he have a lot of fever. Komori should come with drugs in a few minutes.”

“I’ll go to see that myself,” Oikawa said.

He came into the apartment, which was surprisingly big and even almost luxurious –which wasn’t finally so surprising when one was a volleyball world star- to find Ushijima in the center of the living-room, standing between a black leather sofa and a glass low table.

“Oikawa,” he solemnly welcomed him. “Thank you for coming.”

“I’m doubling my fees,” Tooru promptly specified.

After all, seeing Tobio’s pay, it remained derisory. Ushijima didn’t react, as could be expected from him, and asked the most inappropriate yet the most logical question coming from him: “Do you still play volleyball?”

“Of course, look, I’ve got a Molten in my bag,” Oikawa answered with irony. “Where is Tobio?”

“Oikawa-san?” a weak voice came from the other side of the room.

They all turned around to see Tobio leaning against the frame of a door, a blanket around his shoulders and with the ugliest face Oikawa had never seen of him –it was to say. He was pale, circles under his slightly opened eyes and quivered on his legs. He took three steps toward them, nearly fell, and Ushijima caught him.

Oikawa stood there, stupidly watching the scene without having the reflex to do something, his brain trying to record the preposterous image of Kageyama Tobio getting half-carried by Ushijima Wakatoshi, who had on his face something as near as possible for him of concern. He literally dragged Tobio to the sofa to make him lay there.

“Tobio-chan?” Oikawa called him, squatting to be to his height. “How do you feel?”

“Not well,” Kageyama groaned.

It was the most obvious answer in the world. He was sweaty and shaking, and maybe getting even paler. Oikawa took a thermometer out of his bag to put it on Tobio’s forehead, and opened his eyes wide before the result –it’s been a while since he hadn’t seen such number. Finally, the libero would be welcomed if he brought antibiotic. Oikawa began checking, and slid his stethoscope under Tobio’s wet shirt, feeling his fingertips brush against the burning skin.

Ushijima was leaning above his shoulder, which particularly annoyed him, and even more that the only thing which seemed to interest the ace was to know in how much time Tobio would be good enough to toss for him. Sakusa had took refuge in the furthest corner of the room, and quickly disappeared to open the door when someone knocked. A second later, Komori came into the room, arms full of small boxes.  

“How is he? Ah, hello!”

This one was smiling, at least, Oikawa thought greeting him back. Komori let the drugs fell on the low table, then leaned to see Kageyama and turned to Ushijima: “I told you he was going to be sick. That’s because the coach made us run under the rain.”

“That’s not it,” Sakusa said. “He must have caught it from Miya, he wasn’t here last week and I’m sure it was because he was sick.”

“Well, if they stopped to live in each other’s pockets, he wouldn’t have caught it.”

“Shh,” Ushijima growled.

He probably had noticed the annoyed expression on Oikawa’s face, who kept doing his job and as fast as possible to get back his office in time. He was trying to find something in the meds that could lessen the fever, which was the main urgency, but couldn’t find a thing –Sakusa didn’t hold his reputation.

“Paper,” he asked, holding out a hand toward Ushijima. The ace hurried to bring him a notebook, and Oikawa quickly wrote down everything that was needed before signing and giving him back: “Ushiwaka, you’re always bragging about running fast, let’s see in how many minutes you can run to the drugstore and come back here.”

Ushijima only nodded and disappeared. Oikawa was almost disappointed that he didn’t reply to his words, and turned towards the two others: “If you could find fresh water and cloths, maybe?”

Komori brought what he found, a basin of fresh water and what looked like a washcloth. Oikawa put it in the water so that it was soaked and wringed it. Then, pushing back Tobio’s locks, he put it on his forehead. He had more or less avoided looking him in the eyes, but he caught his blue and bright gaze on him and had no other choice but to address him a reassuring smile.

“Oikawa-san,” Tobio whispered. “Thanks for being here.”

Tooru wouldn’t admit it, but he felt a shiver run down his spine.

“It’s okay,” he simply said. “I’m your doctor.”

He had let a hand placed at the edge of the sofa, just near Tobio, and his heart missed a beat when Kageyama’s hot fingers landed on his.

“Thanks anyway,” Tobio mumbled.

There was something childish within him at this moment, in his way to look with wet, almost desperate eyes, to hold his hand; Oikawa was deeply troubled and brought back years ago. That particular moment was cut when Kageyama began to cough and shuddered. His eyes on the ceiling, he whined: “I want to play…”

Oikawa had a moment of mental debate to know if Tobio was a confirmed idiot or if it was the fever that made him drifting away. The second option took over when Kageyama crushed the fingers that he still held with a startling strength: “Oikawa-san, come and play with me…”

Tooru heard Komori and Sakusa whispering, and began to redden while trying to release his hand, without success: “I can’t, Tobio-chan. Look, you can’t even stand.”

“Then carry me,” Kageyama said in a rather comic mixture of complain and command.

“No, you’re too heavy,” Oikawa answered trying to suppress his smile.

Kageyama displayed his usual pout, even more marked: “I want to play. Oikawa-san, please…”

“Later,” Oikawa dodged. “When you’re cured, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Yeah.”

He’s already tripping, no need to upset him now, Tooru reasoned. With his free hand, he once again immersed the cloth hoping that the cold could appease Tobio. Ushijima came back at this moment, cheeks barely reddened and breathe barely shortened. He proudly gave a little plastic bag to Oikawa.

“Keep it,” Tooru said getting up, finally freeing his hand. “I’m going, I’m already late. Everything is written on the paper and on the meds.”

Ushijima didn’t answer, but once again nodded to show he understood. Oikawa checked his watch and hurried to gather his things; he glanced to Tobio, unsure what to do, feeling a bit guilty to leave him here in this state. He hesitated to reach for his hand, but Kageyama seemed too tired to seize it; instead and in a strange automatism, Oikawa ruffled his hair and smiled: “Get well soon, Tobio-chan.”

He was still wondering why he did this when Ushijima walked him to the door.

“I’ll stay with him,” the ace said.

“Thanks,” Oikawa replied. “If it doesn’t get better by the end of the day, call me and I’ll pass again after work.”

“Okay. Have a good day.”

Oikawa was still a bit confused when he left. He didn’t manage to concentrate during the day, and surprised himself insistently checking his phone during the afternoon, but nothing came. He felt half relieved: it meant that Kageyama was recovering… and half disappointed. Did he really want a pretext to go back to Tobio?

He left that in the back of his head for the next few days. Knowing that fever often rose the morning, he had half expected a call the next day, and blamed himself for this hope. Finally, three days had passed without any news when he received a message on his personal phone.

From: Tobio-chan. “Don’t forget you promised to play with me.”

The smile that stretched Oikawa’s lips was more satisfied than annoyed.

 

*

 

Oikawa was a man of his word. Consequently, if he did promise something, he had to fulfill it.

He didn’t exactly know what kind of unhealthy fascination he still exerted on Kageyama and Ushijima, both still very interested in his sports status. He was aware of being surpassed, by far and since a long time by those who were at a time his rivals; but time has passed, and it was blatant in Kageyama’s case. He thus didn’t know what to expect when he said to Tobio to join him in the gymnasium to train with his team.

He patiently watched with a grin when Kageyama entered the gymnasium before getting assaulted by the entire club all adoring to meet a volleyball world star, the regular setter of the Japan’s (national) team.  He had to be on dozens of selfies, sign autographs, answer questions and even endure hugs from the club’s girls; finally, he managed to get out of the crowd and the game began.

Tobio was undeniably above everyone and at all positions, but he patiently played and even tried to match the habits of his one day teammates. They ended the practice by a match, and even after ten years, Oikawa felt like he did at the time of the great games against Karasuno, feeling Tobio’s presence near his, at the same position, almost back to back on each side of the net. But it was different now, jealousy wasn’t running in his veins anymore and he didn’t play for Nationals –but it didn’t prevent him from a bit of provocation, and Tobio answered well to it.

The game was tied, even if Oikawa had to bring his teammates back to reality more than once, most of them completely hazy to play with Kageyama Tobio himself and less ready to receive the ball than staring at him open-mouthed. Without any surprise, Kageyama’s team won, but as Tooru was ready to shake his hand, Tobio called him: “I asked to play with you, Oikawa-san, not against you.”

It was said on a neutral tone, seeming to be Ushijima’s direct influence, with an absolute honesty even if devoid of reproach, and Oikawa was stopped in his momentum.

“Okay,” he said putting a hand on his hips. They waited for Oikawa’s current teammates to leave to begin to toss the ball to each other, a basic exercise which quickly became more intense as more and more powerful spikes got involved.

“Do you want to hit my tosses?” Tobio asked all of sudden. Oikawa agreed, realizing he never had the occasion to do so. It’s been a while since he had last spiked, he thought. But either on the wing, middle, back, at every possible tempo –because of course, they might as well try everything- Kageyama’s tosses were always perfect; it was delightful to hit. But Tobio didn’t need to know this –and by the way, he should already be aware of it.

They passed hours tossing and spiking, changed their positions, tried again; when they went out of the gymnasium and Oikawa closed behind them, the night was set since long.

“It was nice,” Kageyama said.

“It’s been a while since I’ve played like this,” Oikawa confessed, looking up to the night sky. “Thank you for coming, Tobio-chan.”

“Thank you for inviting me, Oikawa-san,” Kageyama replied with a playful glance, and Tooru answered by a smile. They walked together then Tobio, who seemed to chew his words for a moment, finally started: “You know, you could come to my practice as well.     All the players already know you, they would be okay.”

Oikawa opened his eyes wide. A practice with the national team? With Kageyama, but Ushijima as well, Sakusa, Komori, Miya Atsumu, some of the best world players? He suddenly felt really small and made a vague gesture of the hand: “I don’t want to play the humble one, but I don’t really have the level anymore, Tobio-chan. That said…” He threw him a glance to surprise his disappointed face, and couldn’t restrain himself to pinch his cheek: “I’d totally be okay to see one of your games.”

Tobio stopped in his tracks, surprise written all over his face. It seemed like he had a Christmas gift before the time; his expression lightened, and strangely this view warmed Oikawa’s heart.

“Really? You would like to?”

Tooru let a small laugh pass his lips before resuming walking; and, giving an amused look to Tobio still standing there: “Do you think it’s still possible to obtain VIP seats?”

 

*

 

Only twelve days had passed since the practice Tobio had attended in Oikawa’s team, and he already was back in his office. When he had seen his name on the lists, Tooru was worried for an injury or a relapse of illness, but when Kageyama arrived, he seemed perfectly well.

“What brings you here?” Oikawa asked, taking a page from his notebook.

Tobio, seated in the chair facing him, pushed his lips forward and looked up as if he needed to think.

“My head aches,” he finally said.

“Oh really,” Oikawa answered, raising an eyebrow.

He knew Tobio like the back of his hand and didn’t need more to understand that Tobio hadn’t anything at all. It was nice of him, he thought, to came and spend money just to see me.

“Yes, really,” Kageyama repeated in his stubborn tone.

“Okay, go sit on the table.”

If he wanted to play, Oikawa was going to play as well. He was restraining a smile watching Kageyama sit and swing his legs.

“Where does it ache?”

New pout, then Tobio put two fingers on his forehead: “Here.”

Oikawa pushed his hair backward to put his own fingers at the indicated place. Kageyama looked up on him seeming surprised, but didn’t flinch.

“Here?” Oikawa repeated in a soft voice. “And not there?”

He moved his other hand, dived his fingers in the black and silky hair to put his thumb on the temple. He pretended to ignore the slight redness that covered Kageyama’s cheeks and let his thumb make small regular circles on the skin.

“Yes, there too,” Tobio whispered.

Oikawa had some fun for a while, handling Tobio’s head, putting his hands on various places and periodically asking him where it ached (the answer didn’t change) and he finished by holding his face lifted toward him. The sudden thought seized him that if he decided to kiss him now and here, Kageyama couldn’t escape.

 The idea troubled him and he took a step back; luckily he managed to regain his composure quickly enough to pretend to take his stethoscope.

“It may be severe,” he said in a dramatically voice.

He plunged the ear plugs on his ears and slid a hand under Tobio’s T-shirt, the bell in the heel of his palm. His fingers were spread and he felt the lines of the abs, of the ribs, the smallest cavities or hardening of the skin he was tracing. Oikawa shivered, feeling as hot as the chest he was touching.

“Tobio-chan, your heart is beating way too fast,” he tried to joke, even if he wasn’t in a better condition.

Tobio turned his eyes away and furiously blushed. Oikawa finished the process, more by good conscience than anything, and then came back at his desk trying to keep his straight face.

“Are you eating well these days?” he asked, taking notes.

“Not really,” Tobio mumbled.

“Do you feel nauseous?”

“No, I’m not hungry, that’s all.”

Oikawa nodded without raising his eyes from the paper.

“And do you sleep well?”

“No.”

“Did your teammates say something about your physical or psychological state lately?”

Kageyama looked up to think, this time in a real effort, not just to come up with non existing symptoms.

“Ushijima told me I was absent-minded,” he finally grumbled.

“I see,” Oikawa said, hiding his smile by leaning on his notes.

“Komoriwon’t stop to tell me things, but I don’t understand what he really means,” Tobio pursued as he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Well, I think I begin to understand what you have.”

Oikawa began to scribble a prescription in his most unreadable writing, and then proudly held it to Tobio with a euphoric face: “Give that to the drugstore, they’ll tell you what you need to do.”

“Okay,” Kageyama slowly said, a bit perplex and putting the paper in a pocket without caring more about it.

Oikawa stood up and walked him to the door of the waiting room: “Bye, Tobio-chan. Don’t forget to go to the drugstore. See you soon!”

“See you soon,” Kageyama replied with a new interrogative glance.

Oikawa watched him disappear, grinning wider and wider while Tobio’s silhouette was shrinking. In a few minutes, the time for Kageyama to find a drugstore, he should receive a message of the most interesting.

He thus waited, eaten by impatience and unable to give to his patient the attention they required. Time passed without him receiving a message, and worry began to replace haste. Did he go too far too soon? At the end of the afternoon, he couldn’t think properly, hesitated to send excuses or call Kageyama himself. Evening was set and the last patient just left his office; he had his phone in his hands now, thumb ghosting above the name of his former underclassman. He was ready to press call when someone knocked at his door.

“Come in,” he cautiously said.

His heart stopped when he recognized Tobio in the frame of the door. Kageyama closed it behind him and shyly approached: “Do you still do consults?”

“It’s paid double,” Oikawa answered in a weak try of humor.

Kageyama stood up in front of him, didn’t sit and stared at him for a long time; then he took out the now wrinkled paper and put it on the desk: “The pharmacist told me to come here again, she couldn’t read you.”

Oikawa didn’t know this person, and couldn’t guess if she had calculated what she was doing, but he forced a smile: “Oh, what a shame”.

“Can you read what you wrote, please?” Tobio asked, looking at him right in the yes.

Does he know? Oikawa asked himself. He couldn’t escape anymore. He took the paper and cleared his throat: “Kageyama Tobio, 26 years old. Symptoms: tachycardia, reddening, loss of appetite and sleep, episodes of distraction”. Oikawa raised his eyes from the note: “Medical conclusion: the patient likely had developed romantic feelings.”

He put the paper and inhaled: “Am I wrong?”

Kageyama shook his head: “No, I came to the same conclusion.”

Oikawa stood up, wanting to close the distance between them. He moved around the desk to lean against it, standing just in front of Kageyama, and crossed his arms.

“Do you want to be cured?”

“I don’t know,” Tobio mumbled, raising an unsure gaze to him.

Oikawa only smiled: “I won’t prescribe you anything anyway. I don’t want you to be healed.”

A spark of hope lightened up in Kageyama’s eyes, and he took a step closer.

“And I think you may be contagious,” Oikawa whispered putting his fingers on Tobio’s cheek.

He didn’t think further before drawing Kageyama against him and press his lips against his. The kiss lasted for long seconds, the time Oikawa needed to realize how much he had wanted it; his hands wandered, one on Tobio’s back, the other on his nape. The kiss was getting more and more feverish, more and more insisting, and Oikawa had no idea of when they were going to stop, he didn’t wanted it to stop –until the moment his phone began to ring.

They took a step back, faces red and out of breath, adjusting the cloths that their greedy fingers had creased. Oikawa ignored the call, but their moment was broken.

“Well…,” Tobio awkwardly began. “I’ll see you, hum –you can come to Saturday’s game?”

“I’ll be there,” Oikawa said.

Kageyama put his hand on the door handle and half opened it, still unsure: “Then see you on Saturday, Oikawa-san”.

Tobio wasn’t going to let him there after all? A feeling of panic ran through Oikawa’s body. No, he had to stay a bit longer. They didn’t even have the time to clear their real feelings. He tried to randomly say something, anything to make him stay: “Where do you think you’re going? You made me do an extra hour.”

His former underclassman looked at him like he had gone crazy. Oikawa began to flush, aware of his extremely embarrassing behavior, and though, as by reflex and to go all the way of his stupidity, he finished: “Cash or credit card?”

Tobio slowly closed the door and turned toward him with a mysterious smile.

“In kind.”

Oikawa agreed.

 

  

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it guys!  
> A great thanks to the admin of the event and to my artist [Kamiyu](https://kamiyuk7.tumblr.com/), it's beautiful as always ♥


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